


i've lost a piece of me in you

by cress_ent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dream is in Prison, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, and can relate to one another, and i thought way too hard about that, even if not much gets resolved, fundy/george can be interpreted as platonic or romantic, george and fundy weren't there when the rest of the smp came to confront him, in that they have a lot more in common than they think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cress_ent/pseuds/cress_ent
Summary: Of all the people George expected to find lingering behind while everyone else filed into the portal Punz led them through, Fundy was most definitely not one of them.Still, he’s here. Hunched over on the bench that sits outside Tommy’s dirt shack, mumbling softly to himself as he pores over what looks like blueprints and schematics, spinning a pencil in his hand that’ll dance across the paper for a few moments when the thoughts in his head make their way down to the paper on his lap. (George doesn’t ever think he’s gotten to see Fundy work on a project before. It’s mesmerizing, in a way, the soft rhythm of whispered words and pencil scratching against paper.)George takes a seat on the bench. Ignores how Fundy startles at his presence, snapped out of his focused haze.“You didn’t go with them?” George asks.“What do you think?”-or, george and fundy have a lot more in common than they think. (my interpretation on why neither george nor fundy showed up to the final confrontation with dream.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & GeorgeNotFound, Floris | Fundy/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 12
Kudos: 239





	i've lost a piece of me in you

**Author's Note:**

> // obligatory "this is about the characters they play in the dream smp lore and not the actual people" disclaimer
> 
> // [dream voice] According to AO3 Statistics, only a small percentage of my readers actually leave kudos and comments. So if you end up liking this fic, please consider leaving a kudos or comment - it's free, and you can always remove it later if you change your mind. Enjoy the fic.

Of all the people George expected to find lingering behind while everyone else filed into the portal Punz led them through, Fundy was most definitely not one of them. 

Still, he’s here. Hunched over on the bench that sits outside Tommy’s dirt shack, mumbling softly to himself as he pores over what looks like blueprints and schematics, spinning a pencil in his hand that’ll dance across the paper for a few moments when the thoughts in his head make their way down to the paper on his lap. (George doesn’t ever think he’s gotten to see Fundy work on a project before. It’s mesmerizing, in a way, the soft rhythm of whispered words and pencil scratching against paper.)

George takes a seat on the bench. Ignores how Fundy startles at his presence, snapped out of his focused haze.

“You didn’t go with them?” George asks. 

“What do you think?” 

He leans towards Fundy, peering curiously at the schematics. Fundy pulls them away from George’s prying eyes, rolling them up and stashing them in the bag that sits near his feet. “You out of anyone should want to see him defeated.” 

“Huh?”

“You know. The wedding.” George realizes that part of that was definitely his fault, but — still. He doesn’t want to get into the specifics. “You being born in L’Manberg. Shouldn’t you, more than anyone — well, maybe not Tommy, that kid has an almost unreasonably large grudge against Dream — want to see him gone?”

Fundy doesn’t give George an answer, staring off towards the sunset instead. 

George lifts the glasses that sit atop the bridge of his nose and rests them against his head, watching the sunset with Fundy. “I loved him,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, George sees Fundy turn towards him.

“I loved him, too.” Fundy laughs bitterly. “Too bad he never felt the same.”

“Dream was a lot of things,” George says by way of answering, “but I don’t think unloving was one of them. I think he just chose to — push us away.”

“How stupid do you think I am?” 

George lets out a soft sigh, pulling his knees towards his chest. “Punz showed me — the room he led all the others to. It was like some huge, fucked up museum, with little sections and signs for everything he’d take from everyone in this entire world, every sentimental pet or item they have that’d allow him to have power over them.”

“... Holy shit.” Fundy laughs, but George can hear the nerves that infuse every note of the sweet sound. “What the  _ fuck _ .”

“It was a lot — he had Beckerson, he had a space for Mars, he even had a little prison built for Skeppy, since that’s what Bad cares most about.” George dragged a hand down his face. Let out a breath. “He didn’t have anything for you or me, though.” 

“Beckerson?”

“Sapnap’s always cared more about Beckerson, and all his other pets, than I have.”

Fundy goes quiet for a bit, voice soft when he next speaks. “He didn’t have anything for me.”

“Not from what I could see, no.”

“Or you.”

George lets out a small noise of agreement, wrapping his arms even tighter around his knees. He feels — small. He wouldn’t be able to say why. “No. He didn’t.”

“... Why?”

“I don’t know, Fundy.” The sun dips down below the horizon, the night sky being washed with indigo, stars beginning to shimmer softly amidst the inky depths. The silver strands that weave between the auburn of Fundy’s hair begin to shine silver in the moonlight. “I think, though, that at some point — he loved us.”

“... Oh.”

“You didn’t go with Punz, and the others,” George repeats slowly, and he thinks he knows where he’s going with this now, “was it because it’s him?”

Fundy laughs. It’s sweet, tinged with bitterness and desperation and loneliness, and part of George feels like he should try and pierce through the layers to the softness he knows lies beneath. “You and I should know better than anyone — it’s always because it’s him.”

“ _ Quelle grande chose, être aimé. Quelle chose plus grande encore, aimer. _ ” George isn’t sure where this comes from, the quote that bubbles up onto the tip of his tongue and lifts itself off like a butterfly taking flight. It feels right, though.

“I don’t speak French, George.”

“Probably for the better.”  _ What a grand thing, to be loved. What a grander thing still, to love. _ George can’t look Fundy in the eyes. “Love’s a powerful drug,” he says, and he hopes Fundy doesn’t think too hard about the apparently hard pivot in conversation that might not be as much of a deflection as it seems.

“Being loved by Dream felt like—” and Fundy hesitates, and George can almost see how he’s reaching for the right words, “ — like flying towards the sun.” George can feel Fundy’s gaze on him, burning, and Fundy doesn’t continue until George meets his eyes, searches every vulnerable depth. “Did we fly too close?”

“Would you have been able to stop yourself? If I said yes?”

“Would you?”

George lets out a sigh. “No.”

“... Me neither.” 

A laugh escapes George, and it’s more bitter than sweet. “Good to know we both ended up enamoured with a man that never cared for us more than the sun could ever care for a lowly human. And would have fallen, regardless of whether we were aware of that or not.”

A few quiet moments pass, where neither of them really know what to say. How to approach the fact that there’s more similarities, more common experiences between them than they’d ever acknowledge.

“Sam told me that Dream will probably end up in that prison he’s been working on,” Fundy says, breaking the silence that hangs between them like cobwebs covered in morning dew. “Are you, uh— Will you visit him?”

“Probably not.” George lifts his glasses from where they rest on his head, pushes a hand through his hair. “I don’t care if that makes me a bad person.”

“If it makes you a bad person, then I guess I’m one too.”

“... Maybe you’re not so bad, Fundy.”

“And maybe you aren’t either, George.”

George looks up, and the sun has long since disappeared below the horizon, and he’s never really looked at the moon so closely before, and the stars twinkle like gemstones inlaid in fabric dyed the richest, deepest blue. Maybe it won’t be so bad, to sit in the softer light of the moon for a while. To stay out of the sun. 

He can only hope.

**Author's Note:**

> something about fundy and george not being there made my brain go feral even if it was likely for non-rp related reasons <3 anyways! something something dream falling from grace and despite how both of them should want it because of how dream's hurt them in the past they still can't bring themselves to actually witness it. this piece feels really prose-y and experimental and i dont hate it tbh! also i have like 8 other wips outlined that are centered around either the final encounter with dream or time traveller karl jacobs, so,,, i'm at the very least glad that this one is Done. thank you for reading!! consider leaving kudos or comments if you enjoyed <3


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